


des petites morts

by DreamerInSilico



Series: The Little Death [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Multi, protective!Lucien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 08:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamerInSilico/pseuds/DreamerInSilico
Summary: Four snapshots in the LuLa/Riva timeline from The Little Death series.  (Crosspost from Tumblr.)





	1. On Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> With concerns about Tumblr imploding, I'm trying to get all my work that was only posted there cross-archived here. Here are a few bits that nestle within my The Little Death series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Anything with Lucien or Cicero!"

The kill had been swift and silent, the target felled by a single poisoned arrow from half the cavern away - just the way she liked it.  Most would find the storeroom crevice she now hid within as she waited for a gap in the patrols to be stifling, an imposition on time and liberty… but for Riva, it was but a pause to savor the sweet thrill of a cleanly-executed contract.  She could wait as long as need be to get clear of the underground stronghold.  

From the marked lack of commotion in the rooms above, she surmised that no one had even found the body yet.  If she were truly lucky, that would bide beyond the time when she made her final escape, but she was confident that it wouldn’t matter much either way.  She was a flitting shadow that skipped between heartbeats, striking out once to sever the chain, then fading away to nothingness, as far as those surrounding her hapless targets were concerned.  They would never catch a glimpse of her.  

A cool breeze brushed her nape, and she shivered, somehow knowing that Lucien had returned to her hiding place from his covert reconnaissance of the guard.  He had not bothered to manifest a semicorporeal form.  

His presence was confirmed a moment later as his voice sounded its soft growl in her ear.  "They are yet unaware - you are an artist, dear sister.“  There was a pause.  "And tonight, you are  _mine_.”  

Suddenly, Riva found her patience fleeing like a dropped string of beads that bounce and scatter in every direction.  


	2. Awry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Skyrim: Character of choice. Assassination of a noble gone horribly wrong.  
> From the quest Bound Until Death; directly precedes The Longest Night. (Context-wise, I’m taking some liberty with when she gets Shadowmere and the spell to summon Lucien.)

Riva’s blood sang with the thrill of a challenging hunt as she crept along the battlements, a wisp of a shadow against the night.  She’d been given this contract for her stealth as much as style, as both of those were needed in abundance for such a public assassination.  

The guards were  _everywhere_ , as expected - a knife kill was out of the question, but the beautiful bow that Gabriella had cached for her would be perfect.  (The balcony her friend had left it on was a bit too exposed for Riva’s tastes, however, and she’d collected it well ahead of time to relocate to the upper walkway.)  The bride’s speech was fast-approaching, and after one more life-detection cantrip to check for guards, Riva crouched behind a crenelation to poison her arrow.  

The spot wasn’t perfect, but at least there wasn’t a door right behind her.  She’d at least hear the guards coming if worse came to worse.  

As her target and the groom made their stately way up to the balcony to address the public, worse did, in fact, come to worse.  

Riva silently mouthed an orismer profanity - her information about the patrol schedule must have been off, or else some officer had decided to get creative at the last minute.   _Probably the latter_ , she thought sourly.  Still, they were all the way across the walkway from her and moving slowly… she might have time…

The seconds it took for the bride to appear on the balcony were measured in clanking footfalls that grew steadily louder.  Riva forced herself to icy calm and lined up the shot.  She’d let the woman get a sentence out, and then she’d fire.  

Another handful of seconds, and the bride had finally appeared and waved.  

 _Just talk, you Imperial cow._   

When she started talking, everything happened at once.  Riva let out a steady breath and took the shot.  Her aim was as true as ever, but the fierce satisfaction was cut short by the knowledge that the  _twang_  of her bowstring was just loud enough to - 

Paused footsteps.

A woman’s shriek.  

Shouting from below, and a guard’s bellow from behind her.  She had to  _move_.  

One guard died with a throwing knife in his throat before he could take another step toward her, but his companion had freed her shield and was faster to recover from the surprise.  Riva tumbled past her as she was drawing her sword, the assassin completely focused on  _getting to the grappling hook_  that she had secured to a nearby section of the outer wall in case of an emergency.  

This fetching well qualified as an emergency.  

The thin cord held as she half-slid, half rappelled down the wall, thanking Sithis that at least the guard didn’t have a bow, though her shouted warning did not bode well for Riva.  Shadowmere was waiting just outside the castle grounds, and she leaped astride - the fell horse would put a safe distance between her and her pursuers almost immediately - but already she could hear the arrows slicing through winter air.

The pain as one found her hip was shattering, and only the most direly-honed survival instincts allowed her to keep her grip on the reins as Shadowmere broke into a gallop.  


	3. Speculation

Gabriella had always been friendly - in her own, twisted way, of course - to Riva.  But ever since she’d rescued Riva from near-death in the bitter depths of a snowstorm, she’d acted… just a bit different.  She smiled a private, barely-there smile when she saw the other dunmer, and her eyes often held a speculative gleam that sent appreciative chills down Riva’s spine.  

It was after one such charged greeting that Riva retired to her chamber to find Lucien a smirking, ghostly presence in her chair.  

“You’re awfully lively today,” she remarked.  "What’s the occasion?“

Lucien shook his head and chuckled softly at the joke, rising to circle her slowly.  It was one of his favorite, subtle things to do in their dream-havens, for it never failed to set her just slightly on-edge, despite the fact that she trusted him more than any other being - living or dead.  The effect was greater now for the fact that she had not in the least expected it, and she momentarily forgot herself, pivoting to follow his movements.  

As a shade, he could not do much to physically halt her, but his smile was dark with the promise that oh, she would  _pay_  for it later.

"I noticed something very interesting,” he answered at last, velvet voice rich with amusement.  "Gabriella is watching you.  Why is that, I wonder?“  

Riva bit her lip, uncertain where he was going with this, and correctly assuming that the question had been rhetorical.  

"She seemed rather curious about what went on the night you were injured…”  

She wondered if he could hear her heart speed up.  Did Gabriella know - ?

“I didn’t tell her, of course, but I wonder what she would say if I did?" 

"I… knowing Gabriella, she’d probably laugh and ask you what sort of knives were your favorite to use on me,” Riva muttered.  

Lucien continued, and she could hear his grin as he spoke.  "Or… what if  _you_  told her?  That could be much more interesting, I would think.“  

If he hadn’t heard her heartbeat before, he sure as Oblivion could now.  "Why would I tell her?”  

She felt the ephemeral chill at her back that meant Lucien had stepped up against her, and though in the waking world he had no breath, his words seemed to caress her ear all the same.  

“Because I’m going to tell you to.”


	4. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Riva has been established as Listener at the Dawnstar Sanctuary.

Riva let out a barely-voiced sigh of relief as she reached the heavy door to her private chamber, entered, and closed it behind her before settling comfortably on the end of her bed.  Lucien’s transparent form manifested, a silvered sketch upon the air, but he only smiled his shrouded-blade smile without speaking, having picked up on her mood.  

 _Listener_.  The title apparently was to mean that she not only listened to the Night Mother, but to every other fetcher in the Sanctuary _._   All the time.  It was maddening.  

 _And speaking of mad…_   

Riva’s whole body tensed as she heard the dissonant, sing-song voice echoing down the hall beyond her door, and she said a fervent, silent prayer to Sithis that the jester would pass her by and continue on his way elsewhere.  Moreso than any other being in the Brotherhood, that man could make breaking the Fifth Tenant look tempting.  

Luck was not with her, this time.  The chanting came to a decisive halt at her door.  She hadn’t thrown the bolt.   _Why_  hadn’t she thrown the bolt?  

Cicero entered with neither knock nor spoken request, still singing to himself, and it was a testament to the man’s insanity that he did not immediately turn tail and run at the blazingly homicidal glare she leveled at him.  "Ahh, the dear Listener is off, all alone!  Poor Cicero has been looking for her, looking so  _very_  hard, for she must hear his new rhyme!“  

Riva hissed through her teeth.  "Desist, and leave now, fool, if you value your tongue.”  

“But poor Cicero has worked on it just for the Listener!  And she will send him awa - ”

Suddenly Lucien was out of the shadows he had been loitering in, and standing directly in front of the jester, who cut off his pleading with a strangled yelp.  

“She is not alone.”  The spectre’s voice held the soft, deceptively calm timbre that promised dire consequences for those who did not heed.  Riva knew firsthand that this promise was one he could unquestionably keep.  

While Cicero’s adoration for “his sweet Listener” prevented him from truly fearing her wrath, he was terrified of Lucien - a curiosity that Riva meant to ask the spectre about, one day.  For the present, however, she was merely grateful that Cicero hastily tumbled backward, away from Lucien, away from her, and out of her door.  

Lucien’s ephemeral touch was cool against her skin when he turned to stroke a single finger down her forehead, across an eyelid, and along the curve of her cheek.  The angry knots between her eyes loosened fractionally, and she met his secretive smile with one of her own.  

Without another word, he left her side to slip through her door, which clicked closed in his wake.  Perhaps the sight of him glowering in the hallway would keep anyone else from considering an attempt to disturb her.  Or perhaps he’d have to persuade them a bit more painfully - she didn’t much care.  

For a few hours, at least, she would Listen to nothing but the blessed silence of the Void. 


End file.
